


Dirty Little Boy

by sparxwrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Play, Biting, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Feminization, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, M/M, Overstimulation, Pink Panties, boys in panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer comes home from a day's shopping for clothes with a pair of women's underwear. Sam is... intrigued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Little Boy

**Author's Note:**

> [Lucifer’s panties](http://hewearspanties.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/dusty-rose-hipster-panties.jpg), for anyone that’s interested

There’s an unfamiliar softness to Lucifer, when Sam touches him. Plenty of the women he’s kissed and held and fucked have been soft, but the few men Sam’s been with have all been lean, hard-muscled. The obvious fact of Lucifer’s masculinity combined with the curve and dent of his belly under Sam’s mouth, the give of unworked muscle under his fingers, is a dichotomy. The comfortable middle-aged-ness of Lucifer’s vessel is both strange and wonderful.

It saddens Sam to think that Lucifer will lose this softness now he’s travelling with them, through a combination of hunter training, lack of sleep, and poor food.

“Stop thinking,” says Lucifer, petting Sam’s hair gently, before gasping as Sam’s mouth slides open against the warmth of his sternum, tongue wet and hot against uneven skin. “Stop,” repeats Lucifer, shakily, without conviction. “Stop, I want to kiss you.”

Sam laughs against Lucifer’s skin because he loves it, that Lucifer still asks permission even after a month of this, and Lucifer’s eyes light up at the sensation. He tugs insistently on Sam’s hair, though, until Sam slides up his body and presses open lips against his mouth. The kiss is gentle, hungry, slow and molten and delicious, and by the time Sam pulls back they’re both panting.

A moment later, Sam’s lost his shirt, joining Lucifer’s already abandoned one on the floor. Next it’s his jeans, kicked carelessly and hastily over the edge of the bed. He presses down again, hips rocking against Lucifer’s as he drags kisses and teeth across the Devil’s neck, hungry for the cold, clean taste of skin against his tongue.

(Later, when they’re done and sated lying panting on the bed, Sam will taste Lucifer’s neck again. It will be damp with cooling sweat, salty against his tongue, and Sam will think,  _I did that_.)

For now, he’s impatient, and Lucifer is being unusually placid – although he does occasionally submit to Sam, now and then, it’s never as easily as this. He usually likes to make Sam work for his prize.

“You’re- weirdly relaxed-” pants Sam, dragging nails down Lucifer’s ribs just to feel the way he shudders.  
“Shopping wore me out,” murmurs Lucifer, voice admirably steady as he arches his back and presses his chest up into Sam’s nails, relishing the red-white lines they leave behind. Sam’s marks always feel the best, achy and delicious in a way few other human sensations are.

The words are enough to shock Sam to stillness, hands slack on Lucifer’s hips, head raising to stare at the man beneath him. Then he laughs, ducks his head again to press against Lucifer’s neck, body slumped against his chest. Lucifer looks somewhere between amused and annoyed, but his hands slip to Sam’s head – one curled in his hair, the other on the back of his neck. “I thought you said I needed new clothes.” His voice is a little petulant, a little irritated, although his hands are still gentle against Sam’s skull.

“You do,” soothes Sam, sliding easily down Lucifer’s body until he’s nestled between the Devil’s legs. His fingers play at the loops of Lucifer’s jeans, the buckle of his belt. “Can’t angel them clean any more, gotta have a change while we’re washing these ones.” Lucifer can’t spend the rest of his life in Sam’s oversized and Dean’s ill-fitting cast-offs, after all. The hands still in his hair tighten briefly – Lucifer’s lack of Grace is still a touchy subject – and then loosen again as Sam presses a concillatory kiss just below his belly button. Neither of them want to argue right now.

Instead, Lucifer sighs and arches his back a little as Sam pops the button on his jeans, reaching up to curl his fingers lazily around the headboard. Usually, he likes to be proactive in seeking out pleasure, but for now he’s worn out enough that he’s happy to let Sam take the lead and do the work for both of them.

Lucifer’s soft exhale as the denim drags against his skin, down his thighs and over his knees, is mirrored by Sam’s hiss of surprise at what he finds.

“…Lucifer?” says Sam slowly, barely hearing Lucifer’s murmur of assent over the sudden wash of confused thoughts clambering for acknowledgement inside his head. “What are these?”  
“Underwear?” asks Lucifer hesitantly, an anxious note in his voice at Sam’s tone. He lets go of the headboard and props himself up on one elbow to stare down the length of his mostly-naked body at Sam – and at the dusty-pink panties Sam’s currently staring at. “You said I should get some.”

“Yeah, but…” Sam drags a hand over the surprisingly soft lace, sighing, and Lucifer’s hips twitch when Sam’s thumb catches the edge of his hard cock, outlined starkly against the tightness of the panties. “Lucifer, you do realise these are for  _women_ , right?”  
“Yes?” Lucifer still looks a little confused – and then his brows lower into a frown of understanding. “Oh. I’m supposed to be a man, aren’t I?”

“Well, I’m… kind of assuming you are?” says Sam with a smile, still dragging an easy hand back and forth across the panties, careful to avoid Lucifer’s cock. “Considering you’re human and all, and you haven’t kind of… said otherwise, y’know.”  
“No, no.” Lucifer shakes his head. “I’m not human. I’m not a man.”  
“You are, technically.” Sam’s mouthing lightly at Lucifer’s ribs, the soft curve of his belly, taking the sting out of the words. “No Grace. You’re fallen.”

Lucifer shakes his head, but he’s biting his lip, one hand fisting in the sheets near Sam’s head. “No,” he says, the word punched out of him, skin trembling as he speaks. “No, I- your understanding of what it means- mean to be fallen is- flawed. I am fallen in Grace and body but not- in mind. I am still an angel, I-” He breaks off with a strangled gasp when Sam drags a hand down his fabric-covered erection, and loses his train of thought.

“Alright, alright,” laughs Sam gently against the fine trail of hairs that spreads and thickens down to his hips and then disappears under the waist of his panties. “You’re still an angel, just missing your Grace. Just warning you, you’re gonna get some raised eyebrows at the least if people see these.”  
“Good thing no one other than you is going to see them.” There’s a breathless smirk to Lucifer’s voice as he shifts his elbows and lets his head and shoulders flop back down onto the bed.

He doesn’t need to see Sam’s face to know the human’s eyes have gone dark and hungry. There’s a possessiveness that lurks just below Sam’s skin, something he tries to rein in and bury – but Lucifer loves it, knows just what to say to bring it out.

“…Yeah,” breathes Sam slowly, licking his lips as he eyes Lucifer’s panties again. “Yeah, I guess so.” For a moment, he just kneels there, between the Devil’s legs, staring at the angel laid out in the pretty pink panties for him.

“Hurry up,” whines Lucifer, impatient, curling his hands around the headboard again and hiking his hips up a little in an attempt to provoke Sam to action – honestly, if Sam takes any longer, he’s going to have to jerk himself off out of sheer boredom. Which seems a crying waste of a good orgasm he could be having at Sam’s more than capable hands.

The words seem to be enough to spur Sam on. He places a calming hand on Lucifer’s stomach –  _wait_  – before stripping out of his boxers and tossing them carelessly on the floor. His cock’s hard, a wet smear on his belly from the leaking head, and Lucifer sighs his satisfaction.  _This_  is more like it.

Sam settles back between Lucifer’s legs, shifting his hips lazily back and forth against the rumpled sheets, groaning slightly at the friction on his aching cock. “So pretty like this, out know,” he mumbles, mouth back on Lucifer’s skin, sucking a bruise into his hip. “All laid out on the bed, just for me. Very nice…”

That gets him a raised eyebrow from Lucifer, because this is new. He’s managed to coax a lot of things out of Sam during sex – biting, scratching, dirty talk, lots of lovely things – but this soft, almost patronising praise is new. Perhaps Sam has hidden depths he hadn’t anticipated, perhaps this is something Sam himself is only just discovering; whatever it is, Lucifer liked it, feels heat squirm low and heavy in his stomach. He shifts demandingly, restless on the bed, curls his fingers more tightly and tries not to reach forward and grab Sam’s head, push his tantalisingly open mouth a few inches down so it will press against his cock through the lace. “Hurry-”

He’s silenced by an impatient dig of teeth into the soft flesh of his belly from Sam, drawing a gasp from his mouth. “Patience,” rumbles Sam, something like amusement from his voice as he slips down and curls fingers into the waistband of Lucifer’s panties. He eyes the thick shape of Lucifer’s cock straining against the lace, laughs when he sees the darkening wet patch Lucifer’s been making near the top of them, cock drooling out precome from a combination of Sam’s teasing and the scrape of lace against sensitive skin with every shift.

“Look at you, all dirty and wet,” Sam practically purrs, lapping at the stain and revelling in the sharp gasp it drags from Lucifer, the jerky hitch of hips that pushes Lucifer’s cock against his cheek and nose. “Tut tut.” Laving his tongue once more over the dips and ridges of lace, he lifts his head to pull down the waist of the panties, just a little, exposing part of Lucifer’s cock and then letting go.

The material bunches up, leaving just the wet, red head of Lucifer’s cock visible, just as Sam had hoped. “Mmh,” he mumbles, snaking his tongue out to lick out a fresh droplet of precome, listens to the catch in Lucifer’s breathing. He suspects that, were Lucifer still an angel, the headboard would be cracking under his fingers by now.

“S-Sam,” manages Lucifer, a little tremble to his voice. Despite being the Devil, Satan, a fallen angel, he doesn’t swear during sex – possibly ever – doesn’t blaspheme. Instead, he makes the most delicious noises imaginable, laced through with desperate repeats of Sam’s name. It’s delicious, Sam’s favourite thing to listen to, Lucifer’s grunts and groans and whimpers, his own name practically a noise of pleasure itself.

Instead of replying, though, he simply curls bruise-tight fingers into the softness of Lucifer’s hips and tilts his head at an awkward angle so he can close his lips around the head of Lucifer’s cock. The skin is warm, salt-laced on his tongue, familiar taste and feel of Lucifer that he loves so much.

Lucifer makes a strangled, grunting noise, hips jerking a little, trying to force more of his cock inside, but Sam pulls back a little. They’re doing this on his terms, tonight, and this is all Lucifer’s getting – Sam wants to hear all those noises he makes as he gets more and more desperate, more and more needy until he can’t hold back any longer despite the lack of stimulation.

“Sam- Sam-” begs Lucifer quietly, hips moving in uncontrollable little circles. The wet pressure of Sam’s mouth is wonderful, perfect, but it’s not enough, not _enough_. He needs more, needs it harder and faster and sloppier until he finds release. “Please, Sam-”

There’s no way Sam can shake his head with a cock in his mouth, so instead he laughs, grins around the slick flesh in his mouth at the muted shriek it pulls from Lucifer, before starting to suck. Irregular rhythms, different pressures, until Lucifer’s mewling loudly and writhing under his mouth, fighting for every inch of extra stimulation, that further push he needs to topple over the edge.

“Sam, Sam, Sam,” he gasps out, the name a litany, a prayer, an anchor to sanity as his mind spirals upwards into whiteness with the pleasure, the noises coming out of his mouth barely even human. “Sam, Sam, Sam-” because it’s still not enough, his cock is throbbing red and leaking into Sam’s mouth, balls tight and pressed up by the panties, but it’s  _not enough_. “Sam- S-Sam, oh, oh, Sam-”

Sam wishes he could see Lucifer’s face right now, wishes he could see the _whole_  of Lucifer – and there’s an idea for later, video camera, film them and show it to Lucifer afterwards, let him see how easily and prettily he begs – but the angle’s not right. He knows what Lucifer’s begging for, though, knows just how to give it him.

Still, he holds off for another minute or two, because Lucifer’s just too pretty like this, before digging his nails sharply into Lucifer’s skin. It’s not enough to break the skin, but enough to hurt, enough to shock. Enough to tip Lucifer over the edge.

Lucifer cries out loudly, giving up on even trying to hold it in, and Sam pulls off just before the noise turns into a groan, long and low. The Devil’s entire body shudders, muscles tightening and the buzz of pleasure reaching unbearable, almost painful heights before he’s coming, shaking through his release as he stripes his stomach and Sam’s face with white.

When he’s finished, cock soft and oversensitive, the lace suddenly distractingly scratchy and tight against his skin, Lucifer’s still shaking. Eyes wide, mouth slack, breath coming in gasping sips. He’s had plenty of orgasms since he ended up with the Winchesters, most of them at Sam’s hands, but they still shock him like a punch to the gut – the sheer strength of feeling, the overwhelmingness of it all. If this is how humans feel, when they come, he’s not sure how any of them ever get anything done, how any of them ever resist a chance to feel this shocky, overworked slackness of mind and body.

“Really,” sighs Sam, disappointment in his voice, and anxiety curls in the pit of Lucifer’s stomach suddenly. He tries to lift himself onto one elbow, fails, arms still to trembly and relaxed to be of much good, and instead tilts his head in an attempt to make out Sam where the human’s still lying between his legs. What he sees – Sam, face wet with pearls of Lucifer’s come, one eyebrow raised – makes him whimper.

“S-Sam,” he manages, helpless, and Sam smiles indulgently at him.  
“Made a nice little mess, here, haven’t you, baby?” he asks, and Lucifer nods, frantic, because he  _likes_ this, whatever it is, whatever it’s called, loves the way Sam’s teasing him and touching him and speaking down to him like he’s sweet but simple. Sam gestures to his face, and grins. “I think you should come and clean it up.”

It’s a struggle to get all of his limbs to coordinate, but Lucifer’s determined, and eventually he manages to get onto hands and knees, head of his soft cock still peeking out to top of the lace around his hips. He crawls over to Sam, panting, leans against Sam’s body and rests hands on his shoulders for support as he cleans off Sam’s face. Sam murmurs encouragement to him, pets his sweat-slick hair and murmurs, “Good boy,” as Lucifer’s tongue drags its rough path over his cheeks, nose, mouth.

“Such a good boy,” he whispers when Lucifer finally pulls away, licking his lips to chase the last remnants of his own taste there, trying not to make high, grateful noises at the praise. “Such a good, pretty little boy.” He runs a gentle thumb across Lucifer’s cheekbone, eyes soft and kind, Lucifer’s cock makes a valiant, futile effort to return for round two. “But there’s one other thing you’ve forgotten.”

Lucifer blinks, confused, opens his mouth to ask – but before he can say anything, he’s being pushed over onto his back, Sam’s weight bearing down on him. It’s a little terrifying, sudden and heavy and almost smothering, but it’s also  _nice_ , comforting that Sam’s in control, Sam’s looking after him.

Or, at least it is until Sam stretches himself out across Lucifer, pressing them shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip as best he can, and starts grinding his still-hard cock against Lucifer’s limp, lace-covered one. At that point, it becomes uncomfortable, borderline painful, and Lucifer starts whimpering, squirming underneath Sam with wide eyes at the delicious, achy stab of it every time the lace digs into skin that’s far too oversensitised for this.

“Very- rude of you,” mumbles Sam, eyes closed and mouth half-open where his face is pressed against the side of Lucifer’s neck, breath hot against the soft skin there. “Leaving me unsatisfied while you get to come. Rude, needy little- little thing.” There’s no bite to the words, only exasperated affection laced with arousal as Sam grinds harder, harder, and Lucifer cries out at the sharp not-quite-pain.

It’s not long until Sam’s gasping, trembling, so close he can almost taste it, colours building bright and blinding behind his closed eyelids. “Yes,” he hisses into Lucifer’s skin, luxuriating in the extra friction of Lucifer writhing beneath him, trying to get closer and pull away all at the same time, confused and overused and hungry for something he doesn’t even understand. “Yes, that’s it, fuck, yeah, such a good little boy all fucking-  _fuck-_ ”

In the end, it’s the mental image of it, of Lucifer with his limp cock and lace panties, come-stained and writhing and sobbing softly at the mess of sensation-emotion-confusion rushing through him, that pushes Sam over the edge, grinding hard at the crease of Lucifer’s lace-covered hip before coming across clean skin and delicate fabric.

He comes quietly, barely a breathless groan of noise that gets cut off in his throat as he keeps rubbing himself against Lucifer until he’s fully spent, until it becomes painful to move any longer. Then, he just lets himself slump against Lucifer, almost completely covering the smaller man’s frame with his body, breathing heavy and loud as he recovers his composure and coherent thought after the best orgasm he’s had in years.

He sits up when his muscles stop feeling like they’re made of jelly, pulling himself away from the sticky dampness of Lucifer’s sweat-soaked body, fine tremors still running through it. “Lucifer?” he asks quietly, concern in his voice. He’s worried he’s gone too far, pushed too hard, done something Lucifer didn’t want, too delirious with pleasure to know that he needed to stop – what had seemed like desire and pleasure is now looking scarily close to pain and fear, and Sam needs reassuring. Needs to know that Lucifer enjoyed this too. “Are you- was that- okay?”

“Sam,” whispers Lucifer, licking his lips, eyes wide and shiny. “Sam, I- that was-  _Sam-_ ” and there’s such adoration in his voice that any and all doubts Sam had about Lucifer having enjoyed this disappear instantly.

“Dirty little boy, aren’t you?” he manages eventually, while Lucifer’s still trying to catch his breath. He dips fingers into the pool of come next to Lucifer’s hip that’s slowly trickling across his skin and rubs it into the lace of the panties, along with Lucifer’s own, not bothering to avoid the limp line of Lucifer’s cock, loving the hiccupping, choked noises it pulls from the man beneath him. He keeps rubbing, keeps pressing and teasing and pushing his come so hard into Lucifer’s skin and panties it won’t ever wash out until he feels Lucifer thicken and harden under his fingers

“Now,” he says, pleasant smile on his face, eyes dark and hungry. “Let’s try that again, shall we?”  
And all Lucifer can do is nod, desperate and adoring and helpless to resist, gasping out, “Sam,” in time to the rub of Sam’s hand, blessing whatever forces of nature steered him towards the women’s lingerie section and towards this perfect, absolute pleasure.


End file.
